mort3965 (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mort3965) wrote,@ 2005-09-06 20:47:00 |
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This scarf
Every time I do laundry, I have this black Nike fleece scare scarf that somehow works its way into my laundry basket.
Strange, really. I washed it after winter had passed and it, of course, hasn't got dirty over the spring and summer. I put it away many times but somehow it finds a way to get back in the laundry.
It's as if it's almost if the Scarf feels neglected and wants to join in the fun with all the other clothes. It hears wonderful tales and hearty laughs from the other dark colors. The only interactive social activity my clothing really every participates in. "What happened? How did it go?" the Scarf invariably asks when the other clothes get back--still warm from the exciting ride that is the dryer. "Ah, forget it, Scarfy...Ya had to be there!" a T-Shirt cracks back. The Scarf slumps dejectedly.
I have no doubt my wise-cracking T-Shirts call my scarf "Scarfy..." especially the one that reads "REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS."
Although, the Scarf is in an interesting position amongst the rest of my clothing. It's the only piece of garb that has me at a total disadvantage. It has access to my neck and could choke me to death should it so desire. Nothing else I wear has this power. I'm completely vulnerable and at its mercy when I wear it. And maybe all this neglect and insults from the other clothes has built up over the years. It must be tough being a scarf during the summer. The heat must be intense.
Hmmm. Maybe I'd better toss it in the wash just in case.
Every time I do laundry, I have this black Nike fleece scare scarf that somehow works its way into my laundry basket.
Strange, really. I washed it after winter had passed and it, of course, hasn't got dirty over the spring and summer. I put it away many times but somehow it finds a way to get back in the laundry.
It's as if it's almost if the Scarf feels neglected and wants to join in the fun with all the other clothes. It hears wonderful tales and hearty laughs from the other dark colors. The only interactive social activity my clothing really every participates in. "What happened? How did it go?" the Scarf invariably asks when the other clothes get back--still warm from the exciting ride that is the dryer. "Ah, forget it, Scarfy...Ya had to be there!" a T-Shirt cracks back. The Scarf slumps dejectedly.
I have no doubt my wise-cracking T-Shirts call my scarf "Scarfy..." especially the one that reads "REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS."
Although, the Scarf is in an interesting position amongst the rest of my clothing. It's the only piece of garb that has me at a total disadvantage. It has access to my neck and could choke me to death should it so desire. Nothing else I wear has this power. I'm completely vulnerable and at its mercy when I wear it. And maybe all this neglect and insults from the other clothes has built up over the years. It must be tough being a scarf during the summer. The heat must be intense.
Hmmm. Maybe I'd better toss it in the wash just in case.
